


Prodigal

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Jewish Holidays, Mental Disorder, POV First Person, Passover, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-06
Updated: 2009-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the traditional questions have no answers.  446 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prodigal

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I wanted to write a _happy_ Passover story. I should've known better.

_**Nanofic: Prodigal**_  
 **TITLE:** Prodigal  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/).  
 **CHARACTERS:** Daniel Wilson and his family, House  
 **RATING:** A soft **R** for subject matter which may prove disturbing to some readers.  
 **WARNINGS:** No.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, for Season 5 in general.  
 **SUMMARY:** Sometimes the traditional questions have no answers. 446 words.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** Well, I wanted to write a _happy_ Passover story. I should've known better.  
 **BETA:** Thanks, as always, to my intrepid First Readers for their support and encouragement on this one.

 **Prodigal**

  
The smell of roasting lamb's strong in the house and that's what my mother's done, smeared the blood of the Lamb on the lintels of the door -- it's just like Mr. Boyboy said that one time when we were together, we Jews really are Christ-killers. Or maybe it was Santa Claus we killed, I don't really know but then sometimes I get them mixed up in my head. I get a lot of things mixed up in my head and that's why I'm here. That's what they tell me even though I know the truth. I look around at Mr. House, my brother's friend only he's not Mr. House he's Dr. House a doctor like my brother. Just as I thought, he's watching me.

Ah-ha I caught you watching I think but I don't say anything. If he knows he'll just watch more. I should be used to it by now but usually the men who watch have red eyes, not blue and dogs have blue eyes. Some dogs. Watching makes me think of schedules and I glance down at my wrist.

Got a date? Dr. House asks and I look up quick and he's got those blue dog-eyes fixed on me.

No, I say.

The man on TV will be on soon; he isn't Mr. Boyboy but he tells me the same things.

Dr. House cocks his head, and that's another proof just like a dog does, and I wonder for a minute if he knows I've stopped taking the poison.

And then my mother's set the roast lamb down in the middle of the table and people are talking and smiling like they do when they're pretending to be real, and my father clears his throat like a horse. I know because it's the same sound the police horses make when they toss their heads, but they don't have blue eyes. They have brown eyes like my brothers. And my father starts talking in that gruff father-voice he uses and everybody gets quiet.

Daniel, he says, would you do us the honor of asking the four _kashes_?

I look around again because even I know it's my niece and nephews who should be asking the four questions, but then I think maybe they know the kids really are kids and they're just going to politely ignore the hooves under the table. It all goes back to cloven hooves.

The poison makes me soft and stupid. I won't take it any more.

That's right, Mr. Boyboy whispers in my ear, and I know that everything's okay now that he's back.

Everyone's waiting. Yes.

I ask the questions tonight.

I ask the questions.

~ fin

 _Notes:_  
Supposed first-person accounts of schizophrenia may be found [here](http://www.schizophreniadiaries.com/).  
A fascinating article on the "four questions" is [here](http://www.forward.com/articles/8649/).


End file.
